A Darkling Sea

Four

Broadtail wakes in a hallway of Longpincer’s house. He recalls dragging himself inside and dozing off from the effort. There is a good flavor in the water, and he follows it to the dining room, where Longpincer and the work crew are having a whole young towfin.

“I am pleased that you can join us,” says Longpincer. “I remember finding you passed out in the hall and thinking perhaps to have some apprentices carry you to a room.”

“I’m sorry,” says Broadtail. “It is a long swim here from Continuous Abundance.”

“Well, tear off some,” says Longpincer. “There’s plenty for all. I may work my people like a coldwater schoolmaster, but nobody leaves Bitterwater hungry.”

“May I ask the purpose of that curious machine I remember you installing at my arrival? Is it some kind of circulator?”

“The principles are similar, but this device measures flow. I remember discovering the idea in a piece by Longlegs, quoting some ancient writings of the Cold Rift ruins. The flow through the pipe turns in the circulator blades, but the axle is attached to a bundle of ropevine secured to a block. So the turning circulator winds up the ropevine until the force of the flow cannot overcome the resis tance of the bundled cords. A rod inserted into the bundle near the block shows how much the bundle is twisted, and thus how strong the flow is.”

“Remarkable!”

“I plan to install them in all my pipes, and then adjust the pipe size accordingly. My hope is to reduce leakage and overflow. Already it reveals inefficiencies.”

“I remember a landowner back in Continuous Abundance who wishes to apportion flow rights more accurately. This is exactly what she would need!” Then Broadtail remembers that he can’t go back to Continuous Abundance and falls silent.

Longpincer tactfully changes the subject. “Do you remember the four-limbed creature? The one full of hot bubbles?”

“Of course. I can’t recall finding anything stranger in my life.”

“My studies of it reveal many curious features. I suspect the outer hide may actually be an artificial covering. Parts of it come apart into distinct fibers like woven cloth.”

“Artificial? But who could make such a thing, and why put it on a weird creature like that?”

“I remember wondering the same things. And now I have an idea: you can go and find their origin.”

“Me?”

“It all fits together perfectly. In your—situation—you must avoid towns and settled places, but in the cold waters you are the equal of anyone.”

“Where there is no law, it doesn’t matter that I am an outlaw?”

“Exactly! There are other reasons, as well. You know as much about these strange creatures as anyone else in the Bitterwater Company. Unlike some of the other scientists, you are strong and fit.”

“And I have nothing else to do. I hear you, Longpincer, and I think it is a splendid idea. If you are willing to supply an expedition, I am willing to lead it.”

“Excellent! I propose meeting to make plans after we finish eating and sleep.”

The humans assigned them two rooms, putting each Sholen in a separate container in their orderly way. Tizhos and Gishora didn’t even have to discuss changing their living arrangements. One chamber became a workroom, where they could gather information and look at rec ords. The other became their bedroom, where the two of them could curl up sociably to rest and bond with each other.

The two Sholen could easily see that the humans wanted them to finish quickly and leave, so Tizhos didn’t have a lot of time to study their findings about Ilmatar. She skimmed through all their data to see if there was any evidence of contact.

What Tizhos saw seemed tantalizingly incomplete. There were sound recordings of the Ilmatarans, made using drones, and a few blurry long-range video images. The humans did have a large selection of Ilmataran artifacts recovered from abandoned settlements. But Tizhos could only look over the catalog of items and glance at images. She could only hope to find an opportunity to actually see and touch some of the artifacts herself.

They interviewed the only survivor of the Kerlerec incident a day after arriving at Hitode. The others called him Rob Freeman, and he narrated the whole event, from the time the dead human recruited him to the journey back from the vent.

Tizhos found the story fascinating, and pressed the human for details about the Ilmatarans and what they had done to the dead human. “Tell me what purpose you think they intended to accomplish,” she asked him.

“Purpose? They were killing him.”

“The method seems overly elaborate. Explain why they would carry him to a shelter, hold him captive for nearly an hour, and then kill him before a large gathering. Tell me if you recognize a ritual purpose, perhaps.”

“Uh, I’m not really much of a xenologist.”

“Tell me if you have observed this kind of behavior before.” Gishora let her question him about the Ilmatarans for a time before interrupting. “Tizhos, I fear this adds nothing to what we wish to learn. Save your questions for one more knowledgeable.” He switched back to the human language. “Explain again why you and Henri Kerlerec wished to approach the native beings.”

The human expelled air loudly before speaking. “Henri wanted to get some cool video of the Ilmatarans to show the folks back home. That’s what he does. Used to do.”

“We would like you to tell us who would have access to this information on Earth.”

“Geez, pretty much everybody. I mean, I guess some obscure tribe in the Amazon without net access might have to wait for print media, but everyone else could see it. That’s how Henri made his living, you know. Go to strange places, film strange stuff, go home and talk about it.”

“Tell me what persons other than Henri Kerlerec would gain benefit from the data you and he collected,” asked Gishora.

The human touched his fingers as he spoke. “Whoever his publishers are back on Earth, and the net services, and the science journals, and everyone interested in Ilmatar, and the guys who make alien action figures, and all the comparative biochemists, and I guess the space agencies and their contractors. And probably a couple of million other people I’m forgetting.”

“I want to know if this means there was a large economic interest in Henri Kerlerec’s activities.”

“Well, I guess indirectly, yeah, there must have been. He always used to brag about it, and I guess he was right.”

“Tell me if this affected your decision to accompany him,” said Gishora.

The human was silent for a moment. “Maybe a little,” he said. “I mean, that’s how Henri got the suit and that’s how come we both figured we wouldn’t get into any big trouble. But it wasn’t like he tried to bribe me or anything.” The human looked around the room, then back at Gishora. “I went along because I thought it was a cool project. Nobody made me go.”

“You said everyone could have access to your findings. Tell me if that includes military planners and government leaders.”

“Well, yeah, I guess. They can go to Henri’s site or watch his videos like everyone else. And all our data is technically property of UNICA or whoever, so I guess the Pentagon or the PLA could see whatever they want. Henri was French, so he was plugged into the whole Euro bureaucratic-corporate-intellectual network.”

It surprised Tizhos when Gishora asked about military planners. The question seemed obviously pointless. She spoke quickly to get in a question before Gishora could continue. “Tell me what you did to prevent contact with the native beings.”

“Well, like I said, we had the stealth suit and the camouflaged drones. I just had a regular suit, so I stayed way back with the impellers and watched Henri on video through a laser link. It would have worked, too—he got right up to them without being noticed. I guess he just got cocky and waded right into a group.”

Tizhos wanted to ask about the behavior of the Ilmatarans, but Gishora cut her off. “This suit,” he asked. “I would like you to tell us more about it.”

“I don’t know a whole lot. It was Russian navy surplus, I think. Henri said his pals back in Paris got it for him and shipped it out with the last supply payload. I don’t know if they bought it right from the Russians or whether it fell off the back of a truck.”

“Confirm for me that the word ‘navy’ means a military organization,”saidGishora.

“Yeah. They sail around in ships and stuff. You know, on the ocean.”

“I do not understand why you ask these things,” Tizhos said to Gishora in their own language.

“Irona would ask them. A military force specialized for ocean warfare gave them this device, and major economic organizations stood to profit. We should not ignore this.”

“I lack your certainty. You may see connections where none exist.”

“If I fail to ask about such things, Irona’s faction will demand to know why not.”

“It sucked. Big time.” Rob flopped down on his bed. Alicia began to massage his shoulders. “You are very tense.”

“That’s no surprise. I just spent four hours getting grilled by those two, and we’re not even finished yet. They want me back tomorrow. When am I supposed to sleep?”

“The Sholen don’t sleep, why should you?”

“They don’t? Bastards.” He tugged off his shirt so that she could get at the stiff muscles better.

“What did they ask you?”

“Jesus. Everything. I told them all about what happened with me and Henri, and then they started in like a couple of six-legged lawyers drinking espresso. One of them—the boss guy—was getting totally paranoid. All kinds of insinuating little questions, like the whole thing was part of some huge conspiracy.”

“Perhaps it is just the language barrier. They don’t know how to say things politely.”

“Maybe. But I swear it sounded like they were trying to pin something on me. Like they had an agenda.”

“Robert”—she stopped kneading his neck—“I just had a horrible thought. What if you are right?”

“First time for everything.”

“No, I mean what if they have a—a mission to discredit the work we are doing here? The Sholen have always opposed our presence on Ilmatar.”

“Do a little media hit job on us? I can believe it. Dr. Sen’s been afraid of that all along, I think. Hey, you’re naked! I hadn’t noticed.”

“Stop it, not now. This is serious: if they do wish to discredit us, what can we do to stop them?”

“When my dad was doing some work for a timber company, I remember him saying the golden rule for talking to media was always have your own camera going. That way if they try any funny editing you can show the original.”

“Did that happen very often?”

“I don’t know, but they sure worried about it. Anyway, you put up your raw video on a public site right away. Even if you did something really embarrassing.”

“You should be photographing yourself when you meet with them. Did you do anything embarrassing?”

“Not really. That’s a good idea, though. In fact, let’s pass it on to Dr. Sen—put a camera on them every goddamned minute, except when they’re in the bathroom or fucking or something. Which reminds me…”

“Not yet. I don’t want to forget about it.” She used her terminal to send a note to Dr. Sen. Rob made it very difficult, but she managed.

Broadtail attacks the task of planning the expedition with enthusiasm that surprises even himself. Part of it may simply be the pleasure of having Longpincer’s vast library to consult. He skims through accounts of other scientific expeditions, taking special note of the equipment and supplies they describe. He carefully reads every bestiary and compendium of animals for mention of anything resembling the creature he is seeking.

Longpincer’s kitchen is also a luxury. Broadtail doesn’t even have to go and ask for meals. They simply appear beside him as he studies, brought by inconspicuous servants. The steady supply of food means he needs little rest, so Broadtail makes good progress, filling a whole reel with notes and lists of items to take along.

The first setback comes when Longpincer runs the reel through his feelers and stiffens with shock at the expense. “My dear fellow, I know I have a large establishment, but even I can’t arrange this many towfins. It’s more than my entire herd.”

“But cutting down the amount of supplies reduces the distance we can cover! Each member of the expedition needs one jar of food for every twenty dozen cables we travel.”

“That’s something else—the number of staff. I can understand taking along a scout and someone to tend the towfins. But six guards? A cook? Two assistants for yourself?”

“Very well,” says Broadtail. “How about just one assistant?”

“How about just going alone? I recall Narrowhead 99 Farswimmer charting the entire Deep Rifts vent system all by himself.”

“His own account refers to Narrowhead almost starving and nearly being killed by bandits and hostile landowners.”

“I think that is just his attempt to make the narrative more exciting.”

“Perhaps, but I am certain that I cannot manage alone. How many adults are you willing to send?”

Longpincer considers this. “Three. Yourself, to handle scientific matters and command the party; a skilled coldwater hunter as your guide; and a menial to tend the beast and prepare food. One towfin for supplies. That would let you travel some six thousand cables. A considerable range.”

Broadtail decides he can make do with the reduced expedition. “My plan is to search along the old rift stretching from here toward the cold shallows. I remember those strange creatures approaching from that direction, and it seems reasonable that they might follow the line of old vents along the rift.”

“Six thousand cables along the rift takes you very nearly to the cold shallows. An excellent plan. Of course, the ancient rift settlements may have old inscriptions for you to examine.”

“I recall thinking of that,” says Broadtail blandly.

“Try not to forget the purpose of the trip.” Longpincer pushes up from the floor of his study. “Very well, I approve. Now I propose we celebrate with a good meal.”

“As you are my sponsor, I cannot oppose you,” says Broadtail, and the two of them head for the dining room.

When the humans slept, Tizhos spent hours looking over the video of the incident, going over the images of the native beings in complete fascination. She envied the humans. They could work here, doing all kinds of fascinating research on Ilmatar and its creatures. She considered herself Shalina’s foremost expert on Ilmatar, and had never even visited the world before.

Sholen robot explorers had discovered Ilmatar, and tunneled through the ice layer to the subsurface ocean. Sholen probes had returned images of life in Ilmatar’s waters before humans ever ventured beyond the atmosphere of their homeworld. But the study of Ilmatar by Sholen ended there.

For probably the ten-thousandth time Tizhos cursed her people. They had ventured forth from a ruined planet, rediscovered how to enter Otherspace and explore the Universe, made contact with Terrans and others—and then decided they preferred to spend all their time blowing glass and planting gardens in little woodland villages. Without the conve nient menace of the humans to stoke fears of conquerors from space, Shalina probably wouldn’t have any spaceships at all.

In a way, it seemed almost cruel for her to see all this information and know that no more would ever come from Ilmatar. This mission would ensure that. She remembered the outrage from Irona’s faction when the account of the humans’ unauthorized contact reached Shalina. It seemed impossible that the Consensus would launch such a huge and expensive mission to Ilmatar only to confirm the existing arrangement. Soon all spacefarers would leave Ilmatar forever.

Dr. Sen approved Alicia’s proposal quickly enough, and that turned out to be a problem for Rob. He was an expert with recording systems, he was spending a lot of time with the aliens, and he didn’t have much else to do, so Rob Freeman was the natural choice to watch the watchers and take video of everything they did and said. Which meant that all his free time suddenly vanished.

It was a chore, but Rob actually found it kind of fun. It was just like filming wildlife—forget all the externals, concentrate on getting the video. The best cameras at Hitode were all built for underwater use, but Rob managed to scrounge up a few spare keychain cameras and rig them up with suction mounts so that he could record both the aliens and their interview subjects at the same time.

The social part of it was utterly baffling. Tizhos and Gishora didn’t seem to mind a bit that Rob was monitoring them. Sholen weren’t big on privacy, and the two of them probably understood the reason for his presence. But Rob’s fellow humans seemed almost insulted that Dr. Sen wanted him to record their interviews with the aliens. Even when he explained why, they still griped.

“Do not worry about me,” said Simeon when the Sholen came to talk with him about the archaeology program. “I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“This is just a precaution,” said Rob. “To make sure there’s no disagreement over what somebody said.”

“Or a way to assign blame if someone does make a mistake. Have you thought of that?”

Rob couldn’t think of an answer, so he shut up and stuck to his recording. Simeon’s interview went relatively well; despite his prickly temper, Dr. Fouchard had a good grasp of public relations, and had done plenty of media in the past. With the Sholen he was frank but polite. “I think it is an absurdity that you come here presuming to judge us. But I will answer all your questions honestly. Let us begin.”

Watching the aliens grill his colleagues gave Rob some interesting insights about them. Where Fouchard was surprisingly diplomatic, Dr. Sen was a lot more acerbic than he would have expected—although Sen did it so subtly the aliens may not have noticed. When Tizhos asked him, “Tell me what is your opinion of Dr. Kerlerec’s death,” Sen’s response was classic: “Right now I am beginning to understand how he must have felt.”

And on one occasion Rob was afraid he might have to intervene to prevent a fight from breaking out. Gishora and Tizhos were talking with Dickie Graves, and it was like watching a couple of belligerent drunks on a street corner. The Sholen, especially Gishora, were asking questions that could almost have been designed to piss him off. Meanwhile Graves himself was making no secret of his dislike for the aliens.

“Explain what you study here,” said Gishora.

“I’m trying to learn about the language of the Ilmatarans. Not very easy to do when one can’t even speak with them.”

“Tell us what you hope to gain.”

“Gain? Why, I want to get one of those huge salaries routinely paid to linguists, of course. Some of them even make enough to purchase food, or so I’m told.”

“We want to know if your studies could be continued by other means,” said Gishora.

“Sure! You could build a probe to not listen to Ilmatarans the same way I do. Better yet, don’t build it. Much cheaper.”

“Tell us what observations of the native beings you have made,” said Tizhos.

“I’ve planted a net of hydrophones to pick up their communications. It would be easier if I could put the ’phones near their permanent settlements, but someone objected to that, so instead I put them out away from the vents, along routes they often travel. In the two years I’ve been here I’ve managed to accumulate about thirty-six hours of usable data. The other ninety-nine point five percent of my recordings are either silence or animal sounds.”

“Tell us how you analyze them.”

“With great difficulty. Normally, linguists have the advantage of being able to ask their subjects what things mean. Since that’s not allowed, I have to proceed by induction, comparing what’s said with what’s going on. Now as it happens, I have been able to make some significant progress, but I expect it would have taken me about two weeks rather than two years without you lot interfering.”

“Explain what you have learned,” said Gishora.

“As I said, rather a lot. We know their language is based on what I’ve named eidophones, or sounds mimicking the sonar echoes of particular objects. By comparing eidophones with actual echoes I’ve built up a little Ilmataran vocabulary, and—” Tizhos interrupted. “Tell me what value you find in this.”

“Is this the old ‘why are we doing this’ question? I thought we laid that particular specter when we met you people. All right, I’ll play: there are lots of things we can learn from the Ilmatarans. It appears they have a very long history; they may have developed social structures and philosophies we haven’t considered. The biology people have already learned a great deal which may be applicable in medicine or biotech back home. The place is a gold mine—” Graves stopped.

“Continue describing the benefits you can gain here,” said Tizhos.

“Oh, no. I see your game. Your people have been trying to paint us as wicked old colonialists ever since Castaverde first set foot on Ilmatar. If we benefit from being here, it makes us look like so many conquistadors out for loot. But if I say there’s nothing here of value to anyone, you can pass that along to UNICA with a word about closing down this useless project. Well, I decline.” He turned to face directly into one of Rob’s cameras. “Hear that? I refuse to answer any more questions because these two are trying to twist my words and manipulate my responses.”

“Richard Graves, I ask you to make yourself calm,” said Gishora. “We only seek to learn the truth.”

“The truth? The truth is that poor old Henri got fed up with your stupid contact rules and went out to have a good look at the locals, but he cocked it up and got killed. Maybe if you Sholen weren’t trying to tell us what we can and can’t do here, he’d have been properly prepared and it wouldn’t have ended so badly. Have you thought of that?”

“You cannot blame us for the actions of humans.”

“Oh? Why not? You’re trying to blame the rest of us for what happened to Henri, why not spread it around? Seems to me your hands, or paws, are just as bloody as ours. If you want to be the grand panjandrums of alien contact, then you’ve got to accept the responsibility for when things go wrong!”

“If Henri Kerlerec had obeyed the rules I do not think he would have died,” said Tizhos.

“Oh, so they’re for our protection, are they? Thank you, Mummy, for telling us we mustn’t go down to the park without Nanny.”

Gishora interrupted. “I feel that we should stop now and meet with Richard Graves at a future time, when all may be more calm.”

As Graves left the room he muttered to Rob, “Self-righteous pricks.”

When Gishora and Tizhos finished their interviews, they dined privately in their room. The food was delicious, and Gishora had misted the room with psychoactives to relax them both and put them in the mood for some erotic play. Despite that, both Sholen were quiet and sad during the meal.

“It seems clear to me that nothing happened here except a stupid act by a human who died as a result,” said Gishora.

“The humans have said that from the beginning,” said Tizhos.

“I see no reason to doubt them. If they had planned this, they could have hidden the whole thing and reported the human’s death as an accident.”

“We still can choose to go home and report that.”

“I fear we cannot.” Gishora toyed with a food ball, then put the plate aside and flopped back on the cushions. “Irona and the others of his faction have very strong feelings about the humans and this world. If we report that humans have done no harm here, I doubt they will believe us. Instead they can claim we secretly support the humans’ activities—and that we no longer follow the ideals of the Consensus.”

Tizhos began stroking his belly in a friendly but not passionate way. “I feel trapped. If we report that an accident happened here, then Irona’s faction gains strength and leads us to conflict with the humans. If we report falsely, then we cause that conflict ourselves.”

“In such a situation, we should make the best of things,” said Gishora. “We must act to preserve our own influence, so that at least we have the chance to guide and limit the conflict.”

“You plan to accuse the humans of violating the treaty, then?”

“I do, and it makes me terribly sad. Console me.”

Are we the only ones?” asks Shellcrusher. The three of them are sitting at the base of a big chunk of basalt a dozen cables from their old hideout.

“Likely,” says Strongpincer. “Those militia don’t take prisoners. They take heads.”

“So what can we do?” asks Weaklegs. “Are they still looking for us?”

“The militia don’t have any towfins with them, and fighting is hungry work. I expect they are going home, not hunting us. So that’s all right. But the three of us can’t rob convoys by ourselves.”

“Back to rustling worms?” Shellcrusher sounds disgusted.

“No,” says Strongpincer. He actually likes that idea, but he knows that he has to propose something bold, to keep Shellcrusher and Weaklegs from drifting away. “Listen to this: we strike out through cold water, leaving the militia behind. On the other side there is a line of vents and towns where nobody knows who we are. We can make a new start there, maybe hire on as convoy guards, or find some landowner who’s looking for workers.”

“You want us to clean pipes and tend nets? I remember leaving home to get away from that!” Shellcrusher floats up, as if she’s getting ready to swim off—or maybe she wants room to fight.

“Relax,” says Strongpincer quickly. “Leave that to apprentices too weak for anything else. No, I imagine us striking suddenly when the boss trusts us. Think about it: a whole convoy or a whole farm, split among us three. Sound good?”

Weaklegs makes an approving click, but Shellcrusher is still floating just out of pincer reach. “Where do you plan to go? Over to Deepest Rift?”

“No, we need to put more distance between us and anyone who knows us. I think we have to head across the basin.”

“That’s a long swim.”

“There are ruins and some old vents along the way,” says Strongpincer. “We can hunt. I think we can make it.”

Actually, he isn’t certain at all, but Shellcrusher and Weaklegs don’t need to hear that. Strongpincer doesn’t like the idea of starving to death out in the basin, but he hates the thought of losing his followers even more.

When it came to Alicia’s turn to be interviewed, she insisted on taking the Sholen outside the station and showing them her animal traps, to demonstrate how well they were hidden from the Ilmatarans and how minimal their effect on the local environment was. Rob was happy to go along—as he suited up he realized he hadn’t been in the water since his unauthorized mission with Henri.

Tizhos went alone with Rob and Alicia. The Sholen had their own suits, and Rob watched with interest as Tizhos got into hers. The Sholen suits were a century beyond anything available on Earth, complex hybrids of living systems, smart nanotech materials, and advanced molecules. They could function in any environment from deep ocean to deep space, and were self-regulating and self-repairing. The only external stores the Sholen needed were small oxygen tanks.

The really cool part was watching the suit tailor itself to its wearer. When Tizhos pulled her suit on it was baggy and bright green in color, but once it was on, the fabric began to tighten and shift, until it fit the Sholen like a coat of paint. The color changed to match her skin—or maybe it just went transparent; Rob wasn’t entirely sure. Except for the helmet, she almost looked naked, even down to the colored skin around her genitals. Apparently the Sholen just couldn’t relate to each other in a nonsexual way. Rob allowed himself a couple of seconds to imagine Alicia in a skintight transparent suit.

Alicia was already outside, and when Rob and Tizhos joined her, the three of them began to follow the circuit of traps, which extended in a ragged loop a kilometer or so out from Hitode. Despite their months of experience in Ilmatar’s ocean, the two humans had to work to keep up with Tizhos as they swam. She kept her limbs folded and swished her tail side to side like a fish. Her suit sprouted what looked like shark fins to help.

The first set of traps were on the rocky ridge to the west of Hitode. Alicia had anchored them where a gentle current funneled through the ridge; the moving water brought a surprising amount of stuff into her nets.

Tizhos spent a long time looking at the little creatures in the nets and listened closely to Alicia’s explanation of how the mesh was big enough to let hatchlings and nymphs pass through, so that there would be minimal impact on the local ecosystem. Rob thought the alien was more interested in the rocks.

“These stones look like building stones,” said Tizhos, when Alicia finished explaining about the nets. “Is this a settlement site?”

“The whole rift is nothing but a long string of ruins. As the hot spots move, the Ilmatarans abandon their old towns and build new ones. Simeon believes they have been doing it for at least a million years.”

There was a silence for a time as the three of them tried to comprehend a million years of history. Rob just couldn’t. It felt like when he was ten years old and visiting his uncle outside Chicago.

Uncle Saul lived on Ridgeland Avenue in Berwyn, and young Rob had gone for a little walk around the neighborhood. He’d gone down Ridgeland for block after block, expecting to come at last on some obvious boundary like a river or a highway or the edge of town. But after going the better part of a mile, Rob began to feel the sheer scale of Greater Chicago. The avenue seemed endless in either direction. Each of the cross streets stretched off to the horizon. The houses were closepacked, neat rows of them extending to infinity. Just trying to imagine all those houses, with all those people, all living their lives, had been impossible for young Rob, and he’d gone running back to his uncle’s house in sudden inexplicable panic.

Now he had the urge to go swimming back to Hitode and not think of Ilmatar’s history again.

Tizhos broke the silence. “Your civilization claims an age of four or five thousand years. My species has fragmentary records perhaps twelve times as old. Compared to these beings we seem like infants.”

“If we are the infants, why do you insist on protecting them from us? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” asked Alicia.

“I leave such matters for Gishora and others. Show me your other trap sites.”

The next site was the highest point of the ridge. “I picked this location because it gets lots of little transient currents. The main circulation driven by the Maury rift passes to the north of us.”

“You so easily give these things your own names,” said Tizhos. “Maury, Shackleton, Dampier. They sound alien to this world. Even the name Ilmatar comes from a human legend.”

“How else can you describe something if you don’t give it a name? We can hardly use the Ilmataran sounds,” said Alicia.

“I understand,” said Tizhos. “But I also remember history. On my world—and on yours, too—when conquerers come they change all the names.”

Rob suddenly discovered he had no patience left for Tizhos. “Why are you guys so damn suspicious of us? All our exploration has been perfectly peaceful—our spacecraft don’t even have weapons! Why all the talk about us trying to act like some kind of invading army? If you haven’t noticed there are only thirty of us.”

Tizhos touched his arm, probably trying to soothe him. “I do not doubt that you mean no harm and wish only to learn. I sympathize. But history shows cultures always struggle, and the strong destroy the weak. We Sholen nearly destroyed ourselves four times, and when we did not fight each other we ravaged our world until it nearly lost the ability to support life.”

“So? That’s your problem, not ours!”

“The Consensus has expressed a desire to help other worlds avoid our mistakes. We offer you our wisdom.”

“Oh, I get it—if you screw up your own planet enough, that gives you the right to go around telling other people how they should live.”

“It pleases me that you understand.”

Alicia was touching his other arm. “Robert, let it go.”

He looked at her, then back at Tizhos. “Right. Sorry. I probably need to get more sleep or something.”

There was a slight awkward silence. Then Alicia spoke up. “Tizhos, could I suggest a small change of plan? There’s something else I’d like to show you.”

“I do not feel fatigue yet.”

“Good. It’s about half a kilometer to the west. We’ll have the current with us coming back.”

As they swam, Rob managed to get up next to Alicia. He turned the hydrophone as low as possible for privacy. “What’s all this about?”

“Something I want Tizhos to see. I was planning to show you, but then they dropped in on us and I never got the chance. Maybe we can come back together.”

“But what is it?”

“You’ll see,” was all she would tell him.

The three of them crossed a section of flat silty bottom, then came to a little hummock of jumbled stones. Rob was no archaeologist, but this looked older than most of the other ruins. The stones were all rounded off, and silt filled in all the crevices.

“This side,” said Alicia. She led them around to the north side of the hill. “This is an old vent, and the flow is too irregular and cold for the Ilmatarans to use for agriculture. Now, let’s all hold hands, and then everyone turn off all your lights. Even the ones inside your helmets.”

Rob was in the middle, so he had to use his voice interface to get everything turned off; he didn’t want to risk letting go of Alicia in the darkness. When the lamp on Tizhos’s chest flicked off, the three of them were in complete blackness. For a moment Rob couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open or closed.

Then he saw something out of the corner of his eyes. A faint shine, like moonlight. As his eyes adjusted, the shine got brighter, and he could see that it was the rocks. There were swirls of pale light on the stones around the vent mouth, extending out across the bottom to where they were standing.

He began to notice colors. The vent itself was now glowing faintly green, and there were green streaks where the current was strongest. Around the green was a pale halo of orange, and tendrils of blue and yellow followed the paths of eddy currents across the old stones.

Now he could see more clearly. The swirls were made up of millions of tiny points. It was like looking at a galaxy. He began to lose his sense of scale. Now he could see slow waves of brightening moving across the swirls of color as the water temperature changed. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Tizhos was the first to turn her lights back on. The dim safety light on her backpack was like an arc lamp after the darkness. Rob reluctantly cued up his own lights and displays, and saw with some surprise that they had been watching the glow for nearly twenty minutes.

“I certainly did find that phenomenon interesting,” said Tizhos. “Although I expect your eyes could see it better than mine. Have you determined the cause?”

“Microorganism colonies. I think the colors relate to chemical concentrations in the water. The luminescence is just a byproduct of phosphorus metabolism. That’s not what’s important. Tizhos, nothing on Ilmatar has eyes. You and Rob and I are the only things in the entire universe that have seen this.”

There was another moment of silence while Rob and Tizhos digested that.

“Wow,” was all Rob could say.

“If we weren’t here, studying Ilmatar, nothing would ever have witnessed that. If we don’t make contact with the Ilmatarans, they’ll be like those little colonies, shining in the dark with nobody to see them.”

Broadtail’s expedition is proceeding well. He has a dozen pouches full of interesting finds: some small creatures he doesn’t recognize, a couple of plants new to him, some lovely old stone tools from a ruined settlement, and a piece of shell pierced with regular patterns of holes that he is convinced are old writing. He also has an entire reel of notes, including tentative translations of half a dozen old inscriptions. What he does not have is any trace of the strange creatures he’s looking for.

The team is camped at a ruin—yet another extinct vent, with the usual jumble of silted-up houses, scattered pipes, and domestic trash. There is a thick coating of silt over everything, and Broadtail is pleased to note that his theory correlating silt depth with the language of inscriptions and the style of artifacts seems to be holding.

His two helpers are working well. Sharphead is one of Longpincer’s employees, a coldwater hunter with lots of terrifying tales of dangerous creatures and bandits. Shortlegs is a small adult, still growing and barely able to read or tie knots. But she can lead a towfin, moor the beast downcurrent from camp, prepare simple meals for the group, and carry Broadtail’s spare note reels when he goes exploring.

Shortlegs bangs a stone to call them to eat. She has mixed a fresh egg from the towfin with some shredded jellyfrond and the last of the vent-cured roe. Sharphead is already eating when Broadtail swims up. They don’t follow any order of pre ce dence out here.“Eggs and roe,” says Sharphead. “No more meat?”

“Do you recall catching any?” says Shortlegs. “If there is any here I don’t taste it.”

Since it is Sharphead’s job to catch meat for them, he sensibly quiets down and eats.

“This is a small town,” says Broadtail. “But I remember you saying there is a larger one a few cables along?”

“Yes,” says Sharphead. “A huge city, or ruins anyway. Three or four old vents—one of them makes a little warm water.”

“Good hunting there?”

“Oh, yes! I remember catching a spinemouth there—twice your size, at least! I—”

“Excellent!” Broadtail cuts him off before another old hunting story can begin. “I plan to move there after sleeping. I hope to find many old things and take many notes, and you can hunt good food for all of us.”

“I think we must tell them now,” said Gishora when Tizhos returned to their room. After the long swim in the cold ocean, she was hungrier than she had ever been in her life. As fast as the foodmaker could produce balls of high-energy food, she gobbled them down. To speed up the process, she had turned off the textures, aromatics, and psychoactives, and just ate calories like a human.

“They appear likely to become angry,” she said between bites.

“I know that. I expect them to become angry no matter when we tell them.”

“Then perhaps we should do so at the last possible moment.”

“I don’t feel certain about the wisdom of that. Tizhos, you know a great deal about human psychology and cultures. Describe their attitudes about deception.”

“All their cultures condemn it, to a greater or lesser degree.”

“Now explain to me how the humans here may react, based on that.”

“I understand now! You feel that waiting may be perceived as deliberately misleading them, and that this may provoke unfavorable reactions. Very well, let us tell them as soon as possible.”

“After they have rested and eaten. Tell me if you ever served as a Guardian.”

“During my youth I worked as a forester.”

“We may face violence. Let me know if you feel ready for that.”

“I do,” she said, although in truth she did not.

When they got back from their long swim with Tizhos, Rob and Alicia got out of their suits layer by layer and combined their hot water rations for a shower together. By the time they dressed and made their way to the dining room, most of the others had eaten already, so the two of them stir-fried a pan of whatever bits and scraps they could round up, and ate it over a huge mound of mashed potatoes.

“I’d kill for some butter to go with this,” said Rob. “Real butter and maybe some cream.”

“Don’t talk about things like that. Besides, don’t you like artificial grease?”

“I just wish it tasted like something. Hey, when the Sholen leave, let’s see if we can steal their foodmaker. It can make all kinds of stuff, not just synthetic fat and sugar.”

“That would be an interesting way to commit suicide.”

“How come? They eat regular food, right? It’s not like they’re based on chlorine or something.”

“Oh, true—their DNA is different, but that all gets broken down anyway in your GI tract. No, I was thinking about toxins and allergies. A lot of the flavorings we put in food are really poisons the plants make to defend themselves. We’ve evolved to tolerate some of them, but only from Earth plants.”

“Well, maybe we could just use it to make bland stuff. No poison flavors.”

“There’s also the chiral sugars issue, getting the right amino acids, vitamins…”

“Spoilsport,” he said. “I was just dreaming of having it make me a cheesecake. A real one, without a lot of weird fruit or chocolate. Or a big tender steak. Hey, maybe we could reprogram it! Have it make anything we want!”

“Do you know anything about programming Sholen equipment? Does anyone?”

“From what I’ve read their systems really aren’t much better than ours. A whole different technology path; they like to build very sophisticated single-purpose analog systems instead of just slapping digital processors into everything the way we do. We could slip into their room and take a look at it.”

“Wait a minute,” she said. “When did this stop being just a joke?”

“When I thought about cheesecake,” he said. “I think I could probably kill someone for a cheesecake right now.”

“You need a distraction.” She put a hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. “Is this working?”

“Not yet. I’m still thinking of cheesecake.”

“How about this?”

“I’m wavering. Cheescake—sex. Sex—cheesecake. Tough call.”

“What if I do this?”

“Okay, now I’m officially distracted.”

But afterward, lying on her bunk, he couldn’t sleep. The idea of getting his hands on the Sholen foodmaker and fooling with it was just too appealing. It wasn’t really the food issue; he was just curious. He also had some vague idea about maybe learning how the thing worked and passing some technical tips back to researchers on Earth. Maybe even pick up a patent. Could you patent alien tech? Probably not.

Alicia was sound asleep. When they shared her bunk, she insisted on being between him and the wall. “I would rather be crushed than fall on the floor,” she explained. So it was simple enough for Rob to slip out of the bed, grope around for his clothes, and creep out into the hall.

He was halfway to the Sholen’s room when he realized he was being an idiot. They didn’t sleep! There was no way he could sneak in there; no matter how late it was the aliens would be wide awake. And during the day shifts when the Sholen were out of their room, Rob would be stuck tagging along with them, recording interviews. Alicia was right—it was a dumb idea all along.

Rob stopped off at the bathroom, mostly to have an excuse for getting up. Then he decided he was thirsty and headed for the dining room to see if there was any tomato juice. To his surprise the room was occupied. Dickie Graves, Josef Palashnik, Pierre Adler, and Simeon Fouchard were sitting around one of the tables drinking vodka Bloody Marys.

“Am I interrupting something? Sorry.”

“No, have a seat,” said Graves. “We were just talking about the Sholen problem. What’s your position?”

“My position? Uh—I mean, I wish they’d go away again so things can get back to normal. And I guess I hope they don’t make a big deal out of what happened to Henri.”

“Naturally. Of course, the only reason they’re here at all is that Sen’s being an utter doormat,” said Dickie. “They’ve got no right to be here, no right to come meddling in our affairs, and certainly no right to sit in judgement on us.”

“They came a long way. It would be rude to send them home again,” said Pierre.

“Well, it’s rude to drop in unannounced, too.”

“Also very expensive,” said Josef. “Do the math. For them to arrive so soon after we sent message drone—”

“Means they’re eavesdropping!” said Graves.

“Naturally, but that is unimportant. We also eavesdrop on their message traffic, or at least I hope we do. No, it is cost of getting a vehicle that big from Shalina orbit, through gimelspace, and then to Ilmatar insertion. You saw plot of their orbit after emergence—very high-energy trajectory, fantastic waste of propellant. Whole voyage must have been like that. This single mission must have used more fuel and boosters than Sholen space program in six months!”

“I wish we could afford missions like that,” said Fouchard. “I hate long voyages in space.”

“You miss the point. Scientific expeditions do not travel that way. Even diplomats do not. Only military missions look like that.”

Everyone thought about that for a moment.

“I still say Sen should’ve called their bluff,” said Dickie at last. “Tell them good day, terribly sorry, no tours without an appointment.”

“We must assume they have enough power to make us comply,” said Josef.

“How? Drop bombs on the surface? Bad luck on Castaverde and his team, but we’ve got four kilometers of water and ice for protection. And supposing the Sholen did go all out and blow us up—what does it get them? The Big Six stop pretending those black-budget interstellar military vehicles don’t exist, and it’s war.”

“Oh, surely not,” said Pierre. “The Sholen are a very peaceful species.”

“So peaceful they have blown their own civilization to bits every few centuries,” said Fouchard. “They are peaceful because the alternative is extinction.”

“I think they’re all bluff,” said Graves. “Look at the way they talk to each other—posturing and puffing out smells. This is the same thing writ large. Dominance displays—it’s how they think. If Sen had any balls, he’d stand up to them. They’d leave us alone quick enough.”

“They can cause trouble for us back on Earth, though,” said Pierre. “A lot of people still think of the Sholen as the wise space brothers. If they say we should leave Ilmatar, you’ll have demonstrations in Brussels and Washington demanding our return.”

“And are other ways to use force against us,” added Josef. “A vehicle that size could carry troops. Sholen could occupy base, or evacuate us by force.”

“Force only works if you’re willing to pull the trigger,” said Dickie. “They won’t go that far. All we have to do is refuse. If they want to start a fight, then poof, it’s war. And if they’re the ones who start it, then even the lunatic fringe back on Earth will turn against them.”

“All right, Dickie. You’ve said it a dozen different ways, but the fact is you’re not Dr. Sen, and neither are any of us. He’s not going to try to face them down. So why are we here?” asked Pierre.

“I think we ought to be making some contingency plans. Get ready in case the Sholen do make a move,” said Graves.

“Doesn’t that depend on what they can do to us?” asked Rob. “I mean, if they’ve got guns and bombs and stuff all we can really do is get ready to die.”

“Not necessarily. I’ve been thinking a lot about this. You can only kill an enemy you can find. We could wage asymmetrical warfare.”